


St. Valentine's Day

by days_of_storm



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack, M/M, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, stupidly fluffy cracky romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days_of_storm/pseuds/days_of_storm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's February 14 and John is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	St. Valentine's Day

“John, are you home?” Sherlock sounded extraordinarily chipper for someone who had spent the entire night staring at things through a microscope in a hospital lab.

“Home and asleep,” John murmured from the couch where he had tried to wait up for the lanky idiot currently prancing through their living room. “Why didn’t you come home?”

“I just did,” Sherlock announced happily, carefully putting a box on the table and nearly skipping into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

“What is wrong with you?” John asked, yawning so hard he heard something in his jaw crack. Then he sat up in the hopes of waking up faster.  

“It’s a great day,” Sherlock replied happily and John wondered whether Sherlock might have accidentally inhaled something in the lab or whether he had had too much coffee.

“It’s raining outside,” John pointed out while he wondered how Sherlock had remained dry when it was pouring down outside.

“Cab,” he explained, making John nod in answer before he could catch himself wondering how he had guessed his question.

“Why in the world are you so happy, then?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day!” Sherlock announced, giving a little bow as if he had just performed some extraordinary deed.

John closed his eyes, counted to five, opened them again and then rubbed vigorously at his face. “I am still dreaming, aren’t I? Or did you drug my tea again, because I swear to God…”

“Do you want some honey in your tea, honey?” Sherlock asked, his expression completely free of any cynicism. John wondered whether he should call Greg to ask for a second opinion or whether he should check for drugs on Sherlock’s person himself.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be boring!” Sherlock gave a dramatic sigh and turned to make two cups of tea. He brought the cups over and placed them on the coffee table. Then he leaned over and planted a big kiss right on John’s lips. “Morning.”

“Please explain, for the sake of my sanity.”

Sherlock grabbed John’s cup and placed it into his hands. Then he took the box from the table and carefully opened it. John became curious but tried not to be too eager to see what was in it. Sherlock noticed anyway and grinned at him.

“I’m going to call her Victoria,” he announced and John could see himself taking care of a kitten the foreseeable future.

“That’s a bit much for a cat, don’t you think?”

Sherlock kept on grinning and pulled a glass container out of the box. In it sat a queen bee on a twig.

John recalled Sherlock’s honey remark and finally felt sanity returning to it all. “You got a bee,” he stated, matter-of-factly, and Sherlock nodded excitedly.

“St. Valentine’s Day,” Sherlock said in a voice that made John feel like he should know how that was at all relevant to the unexpected addition to the family.

“Okay?” he tried, sipping on his tea to avoid having to say anything else for a moment.

“Oh John,” Sherlock sighed the sigh of one who would always hope for more but then settle for less. “What do people give each other on Valentine’s Day?”

“Chocolates,” John felt that despite knowing the answer it wasn’t what Sherlock wanted to hear.

“Close.” Sherlock was remarkably patient this morning – but then again he had made tea for John while basically levitating from happiness, so John didn’t dare make an according remark.

“Roses?”

Sherlock’s face fell.

“Jewellery?”

“Ice cold.”

“Puppies? Sherlock, just tell me.”

“Sweets.” Sherlock said, sounding like this was the answer to life, the universe and everything.

John just looked on and sipped his tea.

Sherlock looked at him as if he wasn’t sure what to do with the strange man on his couch who was his chosen mate.

“Sweets, John.”

“I just woke up after spending the night on this couch waiting for you so I could have valentine’s day sex with you before sleep and you never came home and I am frustrated in more ways than you can imagine so please, for the love of all that is holy, just tell me what all of this is about.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“What?”

“That you wanted to have sex with me last night. I might have come home.”

“Might means no, so don’t even try to make me feel bad for it now.”

“Okay, maybe, but still. Next time tell me, maybe it’ll stimulate my research.”

“Fuck off,” John chuckled, despite himself.

For an answer, Sherlock kissed him, leaning over the bee and the cup of tea.

“People give each other sweets for Valentine’s Day because he was a patron saint of beekeepers. Honey used to be the number one sweetener for everything, and the commercialised version of it goes back to the tradition of giving each other honey treats.”

“You are kidding me!” John had expected many different answers, but a serious historical explanation had not been among them.

“So, instead of getting you chocolates, roses, jewellery or puppies, I got you a bee. A queen. Victoria.”

“But where are we going to keep her? We can’t keep her in the kitchen and Mrs Hudson would kill us if she ever saw her in here.”

“That’s the other present.”

“What other present?” John looked at him properly for the first time that morning.

“You weren’t at Bart’s.”

“Tell me.” Sherlock smiled and replaced the bee on the table to pick up his tea.

“Your shirt hasn’t been rolled up. No wrinkles there and there,” he pointed at the shirt sleeves. “There is also dirt on your shoes which you wouldn’t have gotten in London, even in the rain. No, especially not in the rain.”

Sherlock smiled widely; something which didn’t exactly help John to concentrate. “Anything else?”

John looked him up and down, but couldn’t think of anything that was out of the ordinary. “No.”

Sherlock squared his shoulders a bit more and John could see the outline of something against Sherlock’s sternum just underneath the last closed button. He reached out and pulled out a skeleton key which Sherlock wore around his neck on a slim silver chain.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s a key.” Sherlock put his cup back on the table.

“I can see it’s a key.”

“To a house with a garden with beeboxes.”

“Are you bee-sitting?”

Sherlock’s face grew soft with an expression John had never seen before.

“One day we won’t be chasing criminals anymore.”

John looked at Sherlock blankly.

“More data?”

“I bought a house. A house with a garden with beeboxes. In Sussex. For us.”

John didn’t know how long he had sat there, on the couch, his cup of tea on the way to his lips but long forgotten, staring at the man with the bee and a key. Eventually Sherlock moved to kneel on the couch instead of sitting on it and he took the cup out of John’s hands and placed the glass box in them.

“Be mine?”

John blinked, rapidly, fast enough to make himself dizzy. “Did you buy a house and a bee just so you could propose to me with a pun?” John asked, noticing that he couldn’t feel his toes, nor his cheeks. If he were a Victorian woman he would have fainted at that point. His own thought made him grin, and he felt his cheeks again. Then he wriggled his toes to make sure he could still feel them, too. Then he remembered that Sherlock hadn’t answered his question yet.

“Possibly,” Sherlock admitted, the _yes_ resounding clearly as an echo to that word.

“You are seriously the worst,” John laughed; and then he put the bee to safety and threw himself at Sherlock and made sure that he knew his answer before he whispered a breathless “yes” against his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> Mrsmarymorstan asked for a fic which featured the notion of St. Valentine being the patron saint of beekeepers.


End file.
